


Fragments of my Memory

by Joy_Pedler



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Crazy Dean, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 06:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2419118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joy_Pedler/pseuds/Joy_Pedler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is not crazy.<br/>He just has trouble remembering things.<br/>Some days he wakes up and he remembers what he has to, some days though he forgets everything.<br/>It's an existence that is both unsurprising, though sometimes frighteningly unexpected.<br/>Until a new nurse arrives at Purgatory Asylum.<br/>Castiel doesn't treat Dean like he's crazy. He's kind and open and unlike anyone Dean has ever met.<br/>But there's a memory that Dean can't get at, a thought that won't come back to him.<br/>And there's something about the nurse that doesn't feel right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean doesn’t pretend to know much. It’s not that he’s not smart, because the nurses tell him all the time how smart he is, and it’s not that he doesn’t try, because he tries so hard.

It’s just that his head is a mess, all the time, jumbled thoughts and memories. Sometimes he’s swears it’s like there’s two people inside him, two minds crammed into him. Doctor Crowley says that’s probably just him trying to find a way to rationalize how he feels, and that’s okay. If he can put it into words then he can work through it, and he wants to work through it.

So Dean knows that he doesn’t know much, but he does know a few important things, and he holds onto those.

He knows that he’s been here for almost twelve years, though he only knows this because every morning he crawls under his bed where he uses an old nail to scratch a line into the wood of the underside of the frame. The frame is covered in them, thin marks that track his time in this room, in this place, a reminder every morning of what he forgets over night.

He knows that there’s something wrong with him. That’s why he’s here; to get better. There’s a reason he’s always so confused, his thoughts muddled. There’s a reason, though they won’t tell him. They tell him he’s here to get fixed, that’s why everyone’s here. So though he doesn’t know exactly what’s wrong with him, Dean knows there is something wrong with him, and that he has to fix it.

He knows that his memories are almost gone, whispers at the edge of his buzzing mind. They told him early on that memories would be difficult, that he shouldn’t fight to hold onto them because he wouldn’t be able to, and he’d only get upset if he tried. Dean trusts the nurses and Doctor Crowley, and he feels ashamed that he defies them, but when he remembers things it’s the only time he feels normal, the only time he doesn’t feel broken, and so he doesn’t tell them that he holds onto them.

This also means that he knows that he has forgotten things, he is acutely aware that there are gaps in his memory, though he doesn’t know what to fill those gaps with, not on his own at least. That’s why he has the list. It started when the nurses got impatient with him asking the same questions every day, and told him to write down the things he wanted to remember, things he’d need to be reminded of. It started with small things, like the fact that he’d forget that he hates beetroot and would happily take a bite of it only to promptly be reminded of his distaste for it. There are big things that the nurse has to read to him every morning, and if he doesn’t believe them they simply show him his own handwriting, which he does recognize, and he accepts the facts. The list is his only thread of consistency.

The most important thing Dean knows is that he isn’t crazy. Not like the others.

Everyone else in Purgatory Asylum is crazy. Bat shit.

There’s Ash. He’s an ex-drug addict. Used to do a lot of stuff back in the day, though it ruined his mind. He hallucinates a lot of the time, imagines things happening to him. He sits in the corner a lot of the time with his arms wrapped around himself, smiling or laughing or shaking uncontrollably.

Victor is paranoid suicidal. They say he tried to bleed himself out over a period of two weeks, slowly and painfully, but he’d been on suicide watch before and was taken in before he could do something terrible to himself. They keep him sedated and happy most days. He reads quite a lot, kids books, but it’s something.

Dean knows that everyone but him is a loony.

Except Benny maybe, though he did tear a guy’s throat out years ago. He’s diagnosed with schizophrenia; they say that’s why he did it. He doesn’t like to talk about it, though he has told Dean about the other him who would speak in the back of his mind, told him to attack, to kill. He’d managed to keep control over the voice for years, but in a moment of distraction he started to listen to it. He turned himself in afterwards. They soon realized he wasn’t a killer, charged him with manslaughter and they sent him here for treatment, rather than to prison.

Benny hasn’t had another episode since then, and since then the doctors have said he’s got his condition under control. They’ve even investigated getting him released. He won’t leave though. Benny doesn’t trust himself enough for that.

One thing Dean wishes he didn’t have to be told every day is the fact that he can’t leave whenever he wants. He’s stuck here until… well, he doesn’t know what the terms of his stay here are. They won’t tell him, though Dean sometimes suspects they can’t tell him, that maybe they’re not allowed to.

It’s alright, when they tell him that in the morning he remembers being told yesterday, and the day before, and all the other times, and he remembers that it’s okay, that he has to be here, because he has to get fixed.

He’s not crazy, just broken.

A sharp knock on his door rouses him, and Dean opens his eyes to the sunlight coming in through the window. He winces and presses a knuckle to his forehead as he sits up in bed.

He knows where he is. He’s in his room in Purgatory. It’s morning.

That’s good. He knows where he is. It’s going to be a good day.

“Rise and shine sleeping beauty,” Meg’s voice comes from the other side of the door. “Hide the porn and booze, I’m coming in.”

Dean smiles slightly to himself as the door opens to reveal the dark haired nurse. She grins at him, eyes glinting, and comes over to his bed to set down a breakfast tray on the table beside his bed.

“Mornin’ princess,” Meg greets Dean, pulling a pen from her pocket and adjusting her clipboard. “How did we sleep?”

Dean shrugs as he takes the glass of water from the tray.

“Uneventfully,” he answers, and Meg scribbles something on her report.

“Any dreams?” she asks, and Dean shakes his head.

“Not that I can remember.”

Meg nods, and tucks the pen back into her pocket and the clipboard against her side. She goes to her trolley and ducks down to the lower level, where tiny cups of pills are lined up in neat rows. Her fingers move over them, her mouth moving but voice silent as she reads the names. She finds Dean’s and removes it from the cart, and stands up straight to hand it to Dean.

Two little yellow circles, three white squares and one big oval capsule.

Dean puts all six in his mouth, takes a gulp of water and swallows. He sets down the cup and opens his mouth, and Meg comes over to check him. He lifts his tongue to show his empty mouth and Meg nods and takes a step back. From the clipboard she unclips a piece of worn lined notebook paper.

“My name is Dean Winchester. I am in Purgatory Asylum. I don’t know why I am here but I know there is a reason.”

Dean knows these things already as Meg reads them to him.

“I can’t leave, I’m here for an indefinite amount of time,” Meg continues. Dean’s eyebrows lift for a moment, and then he remembers and it’s just another fact that he won’t remember tomorrow morning.

Meg goes on to list things that Dean wrote months ago, the basic facts of his existence here. She finishes and holds it out to him, an offer for him to check the facts. Dean shakes his head. He believes these things today.

She clips the list under her report and stacks the clipboard on her trolley, which she wheels from the room. At the door she stops, remembering something, and pulls a note from her pocket, hastily written and heavily crumpled.

“Here,” she says, and comes back over to where Dean sits to hand him the note. Dean frowns.

“What is this?” he asks. Meg shrugs.

“Yesterday you told me to give it to you today,” she explains. “Told me not to look at it.”

Dean knows she won’t have looked at it. Technically she’s meant to report any of Dean’s actions, but Meg’s not really one for following rules, and she gives Dean a sense of normalcy that he doesn’t get from anyone else.

He nods as he takes the note from her, and Meg smiles and reaches over to ruffle his hair.

“Have a good day princess,” she says fondly, and leaves him in his room. As her trolley squeaks down the hallway to the next room he hears her call out to him, “Rec room opens in twenty minutes."

Dean looks down to his palm where the note sits, and unfolds it, the creases in the paper tight, the writing his own.

‘Remember’

There’s nothing else written, and Dean twists his mouth in frustration at his own vagueness. Remember what? There’s so much he forgets, so much he can’t remember. He folds the note and ducks under his bed to tuck it under the mattress.

He marks the day and changes into the plain white clothes set out for him, and pulls on a hooded jumper that he realizes must be his favourite, it’s so worn and smells familiar. That’s how he makes his way through the day; knowing that he’s forgotten something is better than simply forgetting, because it means he can work things out.

He takes the bowl of porridge from the breakfast tray and moves to the window. He eats slowly as he watches the people who are already in the yard. It’s mostly the older people, ones who wake up early and go to bed earlier still. They like it out there. Dean doesn’t like it so much; it’s a bit too depressing for him, concrete and high fences. The only grass is on the other side of the fence.

He finishes the porridge and sets the bowl down on the tray. A glance at the clock confirms that the Rec room will be open by now, and Dean knows Benny will be there, playing chess by himself. Dean’s not good at chess, he always forgets the rules, but he likes watching Benny play.

He holds his wrist out to the scanner at the door, and after a moment the scanner reads his bracelet and blinks green, and the door opens for him. It locks behind him, leaving Dean in the hallway. He watches for a moment as others emerge from their rooms, and then moves down the east corridor, headed to the Rec room.

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

“You can’t do that,” Benny says as Dean moves a knight. Dean frowns.

“Why not?” he asks, and Benny sighs deeply.

“It’s not how that piece moves,” he explains. “Knight moves in an ‘L’ shape.” Dean isn’t convinced.

“Are you making this up just so you can win?” he asks. Benny rifles through his pocket and pulls out a handwritten note, which he hands to Dean.

“There,” he points to the third line of writing. In Dean’s scrawling handwriting is the sentence ‘Knight moves in an L shape’.

Dean grumbles and moves the knight back to its original place.

“I hate this game,” he mumbles under his breath. Benny smiles slightly.

“You’re the one who wanted to play,” he says, considering the board. He points to the bishop, and Dean picks it up. “I’m happy to play by myself you know.”

Benny points to a square and Dean puts the bishop down.

“You look crazy when you play on your own,” he explains as Benny rubs his chin, eyes roaming over the board. Benny hums in response.

“I am crazy,” he says, and Dean frowns.

“You’re not crazy. If you were crazy you wouldn’t say that you’re crazy,” he insists as Benny takes the bishop he just put down. “Hey! You _are_ cheating!”

Benny smiles slyly.

“I wouldn’t take advantage of you like that,” he says, and Dean grins. There’s a buzz at the gate and Dean looks over his shoulder as the gate opens.

The heavy metal swings open, and Dean watches as a man comes in.

He’s dressed in the clean white uniform of the nurses, an ID tag clipped into his breast pocket. His hair is unruly, a windswept dark brown almost black, and his eyes are the bluest blue Dean’s ever seen. They shine out from his deep-set eyes, like sapphires or the ocean just after sunset, and Dean watches as he goes to the nurse’s window, a slight smile on his dry, pink lips.

“Dean,” Benny says, and Dean whips his head around to face his friend. Benny sits expectantly, waiting for Dean’s move.

“Keep going without me,” he says, and stands, leaving Benny to his game.

He moves to the window, looking out to the sky as he sneaks glances at the dark haired nurse. The man leans on the sill of the nurse’s window, talking softly to Anna, the red haired nurse who dispenses pills at lunchtime. He nods at her sweetly, and stands up straight to look around the room.

His eyes roam over the residents, and Dean looks out the window quickly, his heart rate picking up pace. He hears footsteps approaching behind him, and quickly fakes looking out the window.

“Hello,” a voice says gently, and it’s low and rough and so beautiful, and Dean turns around and sees the dark haired nurse standing behind him. He doesn’t reply, just watches the man with wide, scared eyes. The man doesn’t falter in his smile. “I’m Castiel.”

Dean nods, wary of the stranger with the blue eyes. Castiel isn’t put off by Dean’s silence, he stands beside him and looks out the window with him.

“What were you looking at?” Castiel asks, and Dean blushes. He’s not going to tell him that the window was a handy excuse for being here.

“The… grass,” he answers lamely, and Castiel takes a step closer to look with him. He frowns a little, but smiles.

“The grass on the other side of the fence?” he asks, and Dean nods.

“I wish we had some on this side,” he answers, and winces at how stupid he sounds. He sounds like a mental patient, though he has to remind himself that he is one. Still, it’s not how he wants Castiel to see him.

He expects Castiel to wear an expression of pity, the one most new supervisors wear before it slowly whittles down to boredom and annoyance.

He’s surprised to see Castiel smiling kindly at him, nodding in agreement.

“I agree,” he says softly. “The concrete is very dismal.”

Dean’s eyes are wide, he knows he must look like a fool, but he nods.

“I like being on grass, it reminds me of-“

Dean cuts himself off, because he doesn’t actually know what grass reminds him of. He doesn’t know why he would say that, considering he’s not been on grass since he arrived here. They don’t allow him to go on day trips, there’s no grass inside the grounds of Purgatory.

Why did he say that?

Castiel still watches him.

“Reminds you of..?” he trails off, waiting for Dean to finish the sentence, though Dean just shakes his head as reply.

“Nothing, I don’t know why I said that.”

Dean curses himself. Why did he say that? Why did he feel for a moment as though he had a memory, something tied to his past? The frustration makes his fingers curl inwards, into fists.

He jolts when Castiel touches his shoulder gently.

“It’s all right,” the nurse says softly, fingers light on Dean’s skin. “I understand.”

Dean doesn’t reply, he doesn’t know what to say.

So he nods.

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Rise and shine!” a voice comes through the other side of the door.

Dean’s eyes shoot open, his heart thumping.

He doesn’t recognize this voice, and when he glances at the wall his tongue grows heavy and thick in his mouth.

He doesn’t recognize this place, this room.

“I’m coming in princess,” the female voice calls out again, and Dean turns to the door in time to see a brunette woman open it, a cart pulled behind her as she grins at him.

“Morning princess, how did we-“

The woman cuts herself off at Dean’s expression, her grin quickly replaced by a serious line.

“Dean?” she says warily. “Dean are you with me?”

“Who are you?” Dean says softly. “Where am I?”

She says something under her breath.

“Dean, I’m Meg. I’m your nurse. You’re in Purgatory Asylum,” she says slowly. “I have something-“

“-You’re lying,” Dean says softly. “I’m not crazy.”

The woman, Meg’s expression turns pitiful for a moment but is quickly covered by apathy.

“Dean, I have something I can show you,” she says warily as she moves to take something from her pocket.

Dean glances at the door as she looks away from him. As she turns her body slightly to go for her pocket he leaps from his bed and dashes to the door, pushing past Meg as he does.

She lets out a yelp as she falls to the floor.

“Azazel!” she calls out from behind Dean as he passes through the doorway into a corridor. People in the same white clothes as him watch as he freezes, his heart beating erratically as he tries to find the way out.

“Dean,” a deep voice says from behind him and Dean whips around to find a man in a dark green uniform approaching him. “You’re not going to cause trouble today are you?”

Dean shakes his head with panic as the man approaches him.

“Who are you?” he demands. “Where am I? Where’s Sammy?”

The man shakes his head.

“Dean you’re going to have to calm down,” the man says with a slight smile. “We don’t want a repeat of last week.”

Dean backs away from the man, though when he takes a step towards him Dean lunges forward, rams his shoulder into the man’s side and tries to push past him.

Before he makes it past though the man grabs Dean’s arm and wrenches him back. Dean yells as he topples, landing painfully on his side.

The man pulls Dean’s arms behind him as he struggles.

“No! Let me go!” he yells. “Where’s Sam? What have you done to him?”

He struggles, tries to pull away from the man’s grip.

“Meg,” the man says calmly, and Dean hears the sound of footsteps approaching, and when he glances upwards he sees the brunette woman holding a syringe. The liquid within it is clear, the point deadly.

“No, don’t!” he screams and tries to pull away.

A second man comes over and forces his chin upwards, exposing his neck.

Meg kneels beside him, an apologetic look on her face as she slides the needle into his vein.

Dean manages one last attempt at escape before she pushes the plunger down and the liquid enters his veins.

His sight clouds over as his struggles become weaker and weaker.

He manages to breathe one last word out before consciousness leaves him.

“Sam.”

* * *

When he opens his eyes Dean remembers.

He remembers where he is, why he’s there and the fact that he forgets.

He remembers the morning, and when he tries to move he finds himself restrained, straightjacket binding his arms against his chest.

He groans as he tilts his head downwards.

He hates when this happens. There are mornings when he forgets where he is, why he’s there, mornings when he panics because he doesn’t know what’s happening.

The worst part about these mornings is that he remembers other things. He remembers things from his life before Purgatory, and he hates the fact that when he does remember where he is and why, he forgets the other things. The before things.

He lets out a sigh through his nose and tilts his head back.

They’ve put him in a safe room, padded white walls and soundproofing forcing him to listen to the sound of his breath entering and leaving his chest.

He looks to the door as it opens, and a dark haired nurse enters.

The man smiles gently, a tray in hand and comes over to Dean.

“Are you all right?” the man asks softly, and Dean smiles shakily.

“You tell me,” he answers, to which the man smiles.

He sets the tray down in front of Dean, and Dean waits for him to leave. His eyes widen when the man sits down cross-legged in front of him.

He doesn’t speak, which gives Dean time to look at his name tag.

 _Castiel_.

“Castiel,” Dean says experimentally, and the man nods. “Interesting name.”

“For the angel of Thursday,” he explains. “My mother was quite religious,” he says at Dean’s expression.

Dean nods at this.

“It’s nice,” he says, and Castiel smiles. “Can I call you Cas?”

Castiel’s smile widens, teeth showing as he lets out a soft laugh.

“If you like.”

There’s silence between them for a moment.

“Are you thirsty?” Castiel asks, and Dean nods.

“Yeah, a bit.”

Castiel takes the cup from the tray and pauses.

“I can’t let you out of the straightjacket, they won’t let me. Can I…”

He means to ask if Dean minds him helping him to drink. He’s the first person to ask before doing it.

“Yeah,” Dean nods. “It’s fine.”

Castiel moves closer and holds the cup to Dean’s lips. He tips it back slightly and Dean drinks, the water soothing on his throat.

When Castiel removes the cup Dean nods gratefully.

“Thanks,” he says.

“It’s all right,” Castiel answers.

Dean breathes deeply, when something from the morning sparks in his memory.

“Who’s Sam?” he asks, and Castiel frowns.

“I’m sorry?”

“Sam. Sammy,” Dean explains. “I was asking for him earlier. Who is he?”

Castiel frowns.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know. I’ve never heard that name,” he answers.

Dean shakes his head.

“I was asking for him, I must know him,” he goes on, looking to Castiel. “Can you find out? Who he is, how I know him?”

Castiel’s expression isn’t like that of the other nurses here. It isn’t pity, but concern that is written in the lines of his face.

“I’ll try my best,” he says with a nod.

Dean holds his gaze for a moment then looks away.

Castiel looks down at the tray, then back at Dean.

“Someone’s coming in a little while to give you your medicine,” he explains softly as he places the cup back on the tray and picks the tray up. “I’ll find you tomorrow to let you know if I find out who Sam is.”

Dean watches as Castiel moves to the door.

“Cas,” he says as he opens the door.

The dark haired nurse turns back to him.

“Thanks,” he says softly, and Castiel smiles.

“You’re welcome Dean.”

The door closes behind him, and not a minute later it opens again.

Meg enters, a tray with food, water and pills balanced against her hip.

She watches Dean warily as she closes the door.

“How you doing princess?” she asks carefully, and Dean winces at the memory of the morning.

“Sorry Meg,” he says quietly as she comes to set down the tray beside him.

She shakes her head.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says with a smile as she holds a sandwich to his lips. Dean takes a bite, chews and swallows. Then another. And another.

When the sandwich is finished Meg holds the small cup of pills up for him. She tips it back so they sit on Dean’s tongue, followed by the cup of water to wash them down.

Dean swallows them thickly.

“Do you need me to,” she gestures to her pocket, and his notes. He shakes his head.

“It’s all right, I remember now.”

Meg nods, and stands to take the tray away. She stops at the door, something remembered, and pulls a small note from her pocket.

“After this morning they told me to give them anything you wrote down last night, so they saw this. They told me it was all right for me to give it to you anyway,” she explains as she pulls a small piece of paper from her pocket.

“What is it?” Dean asks as she moves towards him.

“You gave it to me last night, said it was important,” she says as she unfolds it and shows it to him.

 _Remember_.

Dean frowns.

“Remember what?” he says to her. Meg shrugs.

“I dunno princess. I can’t remember for you.”

The door closes with a click behind her.

Dean leans his head back against the padded wall.

Remember what?

* * *

 


End file.
